


Where the Sky Meets the Sea

by nerdytf84fan



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Albert is a merman, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MerMay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Strangers to Lovers, some canon divergence, with a pirate twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytf84fan/pseuds/nerdytf84fan
Summary: It's 1720, and the Golden Age of Piracy is coming to an end, but there's no place Arthur would rather be than with the Van der Linde crew. It's all he's ever known since escaping the streets of Charles Town. There's no ignoring the change that's rippling across the oceans, but not a single one of them would give up the freedom they have out at sea.Yet, the life of a pirate is not without its own risks, and Arthur will soon discover that there's more to the sea than he originally thought.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, John Marston & Arthur Morgan, Sean MacGuire & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 43





	1. Thieves' Landing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thanks for stopping by! :D
> 
> This fic will be a hybrid of historically accurate events that happened in the Caribbean and rdr2 events. They'll be blended together throughout, and some roles of individuals may change to better suit the time period. However, I chose to keep each character's dialect/voice for the sake of characterization (and I also enjoy incorporating the different drawls/accents WAY too much to change them). 
> 
> If you ever have any questions along the way, please don't hesitate to ask them!
> 
> Also, drate-poke was an actual old English dialect word for someone who drawls or speaks distinctly. :) So I just had to use it in place of "cowpoke". I also owe a massive thank you to Caps_Kat for being such a wonderful help and encouragement! <3

Arthur stared up at the gibbet as it gently swayed in the breeze from its post, the tarred body of another condemned soul proclaiming its grave warning to anyone who passed. This one was fresh, Arthur could tell by the stench that lingered in the air. Yet, he felt indifferent towards the grisly sight. To count how many executed pirates he’d seen in the last few months alone would’ve been a lofty undertaking. It was seventeen-twenty, and the age of pirates and privateers was coming to an end. 

The gibbet was a cold reminder of the change that was rippling across the oceans, and yet he did not cower in the shadow of the swinging corpse. While his way of life was damning, it was worth whatever fate that might befall him. Before joining Van der Linde’s crew, his life had been pathetic. He’d been nothing more than an orphan on the streets of Charles Town begging to survive. With Dutch, he had a voice and the power to resist all that society had left him to be.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to find John. His dark eyes saw right through him, and they were somber despite his smile. The sea's breeze had tugged a few strands of his long hair free from the deep blue bandana wrapped around his forehead, causing them to blow freely in the wind. “Come on, Sunshine, ship’s about to leave port. We don’t want to linger here longer than we have to.”

Arthur nodded and let John pull him away from the sight. 

“Don’t know why Dutch was so set on stopping here,” John huffed as they walked along the dock past seafarers and locals trying to sell goods. It was a beautiful day, and the people who lived near the harbor were keen on taking advantage of the pleasant weather. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky stopping at a port like Blackwater? This place is crawling with pirate hunters and—”

“Would you keep your voice down!” Arthur hissed, his eyes scanning their surroundings for eavesdroppers. 

Heedless of his warning, John continued. “Governor Cornwall’s been closing harbors for men like us, been hiring bastards with their head so far up their—”

“What the hell did I just say, Marston?” He snapped, tempted to push the man into the water lapping at the pier. Witnesses be damned, he’d let the man drown if he didn’t shut up. “There ain’t no telling who’s listening.”

“Let them hang me for all I care. I ain’t a coward!” 

“No, but you sure as shit are an idiot,” Arthur replied dryly. “Think about your family, John. Stay alive for them.” 

“They’re safe in Thieves’ Landing,”

“That ain’t what I meant,”

John was struck silent for once, although Arthur swore he could hear the thoughts running through his head.

They crossed paths with Dutch and Hosea when they reached the ship, and judging by Dutch's wide smile, Arthur knew they’d swindled whatever they needed. Hosea was also smiling, although not nearly as much, which led Arthur to assume that whatever job they’d pulled had barely gone according to plan. 

“Well, aren’t you two proud of yourselves,” Arthur grinned, tucking his thumbs under his belt as he looked them over. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you all either got lucky or heard somethin’ that wasn’t meant for your ears.” 

“If you’re placing bets, I’d recommend betting on the former,” Hosea chuckled before gesturing to Dutch. “With this one, any success is due to luck.”

Dutch rolled his eyes as he removed his scarlet coat and handed it to Arthur. It was a coat he’d proudly bought himself instead of stolen, and Dutch always enjoyed flouting the queen’s Sumptuary Laws by wearing garments intended for royals and the upper class. Arthur had to admit that he always got a kick out of it too. For a man wanted by several empires, Dutch refused to hide in the shadows. He took every passing opportunity to mock royalty and the bourgeoisie in any way he could.

“Hosea, if luck were all we had, we’d have been hung a _long_ time ago,” Dutch said as he left the three of them to board _The Count_.

“Then it’s a good thing you have me as well!”

Arthur snorted to himself as he followed them onto the ship he’d come to know as home. The brigantine had carried them through thick and thin, had pulled them through the worst storms, and outlasted any ship that tried to come against them. It was a fine vessel with a carved lion figurehead at the bow, able to hold close to a hundred men, yet their tight-knit crew made up of twenty-one men and women was all they needed. 

Of course, Arthur wasn’t equally appreciative of everyone Dutch had taken in. Not a single one of them could call themselves an upstanding citizen, but there was one in particular who was more revolting than the others, even by his low standards. They were all rough around the edges, but men like Micah made Arthur’s skin crawl. It was no secret that violence cured boredom, but the blond fellow enjoyed butchering people far too much for his liking. The glint in his eyes that burned brightly at even the potential for bloodshed unnerved him. For Micah, mutilation was more than just a tactic. It was a game that he was eager to play. Like a starved dog on the street, he was always the first to jump to violence, and the chain that Dutch kept him on always seemed too long for Arthur’s liking.

Arthur followed Dutch and Hosea into the captain’s quarters and draped Dutch’s coat over a chair before making his way over to his captain’s side. His eyes traced the course Dutch had penciled on the worn map of the Greater and Lesser Antilles that was pinned to the table. From what Arthur gathered at a glance, the plan was to port at Thieves’ Landing, where they would restock supplies and rest before sailing south to Tempest Bay. His brow furrowed at the latter. The last time they were in Tempest Bay, the place had been crawling with O’Driscolls. That was over four months ago, and Arthur doubted the infestation of the Irish pirates had improved. 

His eyes flicked up to Dutch. While it wasn’t the worst plan he'd ever concocted, Arthur couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of returning to those shores. “Tempest Bay? Are you sure, Dutch?” 

“It’s what makes the most sense if we’re to make it to Coronado. We can’t possibly make it there in one trip from Thieves’ Landing, at least not unless you want a mutiny on our hands.” He glanced up at Hosea. “It’s either Tempest Bay or Port Mercer, gentlemen.”

“He’s got a point there, Arthur,” he sighed. “As much as I despise Colm and his bloodthirsty crew, docking at Port Mercer would be suicide.”

Arthur had to admit they had a point, but their sound argument didn’t make him any less wary. “Why the hell is Coronado our destination?”

“There’s a large sugar plantation there,” Dutch explained. “According to Micah, their merchant ships are easy to overpower, and their cargo is nearly as lucrative as gold. He says he has a contact there, a merchant fellow who’s willing to help for a price.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Is this merchant trustworthy? How do we know he ain’t in Cornwall’s pocket?”

Dutch eyed him with a furrowed brow. “Are you insinuating something, Arthur?” 

“You know my feelings about Micah,” he said. “The whole world’s changed. They don’t want folk like us no more, and they will stop at nothing to hunt us down. They’ve even turned good men like Captain Hornigold against us.”

“And look what that got him, a watery grave at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea,” his tone was cold and final. “Micah's a fine man. His methods can be debatable, but his intentions are good, and he’s loyal.”

“Even so,” Hosea said before Arthur could argue his point any further, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “we’ll be taking _all_ necessary precautions. Arthur’s right. These are uncertain times, and we don’t know this merchant.”

Arthur sighed as he once more studied the map and the course that was charted in graphite, although their path might as well have been set in stone. Knowing this, he relented without another word and stepped out onto the main deck. 

He squinted and held a hand to his brow as his eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunlight. The breeze off the ocean picked up speed as they set sail into the turquoise waters, leaving the growing colonial town of Blackwater behind them. He adjusted his tricorn hat as his short braid along with the rest of his hair was blown about by the wind. With the current tailwind, they would be covering more miles than they’d originally planned. Arthur filled his lungs with the salty air, relishing in the freedom the sea offered them. He glanced upwards to find Lenny and Sean adjusting the sails, and he shook his head, wondering just who thought it was a good idea to send both of them up the rigging at the same time. However, he took comfort knowing that Charles and Sadie were up there with them.

Arthur made his way to the stern and climbed the steps to the helm. Javier stood at the ship’s wheel and greeted him with a carefree grin. 

“Arthur! How’d you and John fare on shore?” 

“We were just the errand boys this time,” he chuckled. “Dutch and Hosea were the ones picking pockets, or doing who the hell knows what. They didn’t mention what they were up to, but if Hosea came back smiling, then I reckon they were successful enough.”

He laughed. “Hosea worries too much sometimes.”

“And oftentimes Dutch don’t worry enough,” 

Javier shrugged before turning the wheel to keep their course. “Dutch is good at sniffing out opportunity, and I don’t blame him for leaping at the chance when he sees it.”

“I suppose so,”

“Anyway, where are we heading now?”

“Thieves’ Landing,”

“That should brighten John’s spirits,” he replied sarcastically.

“Marston might gripe and whine, but he cares about his family,” he replied. “I trust you know the way there by now?”

“Like the back of my hand,” he grinned. “Other than this ship, I can’t think of any other place that feels more like home.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Arthur said as he patted him on the back. He spent the next hour helping the crew, from adjusting knots to handling the sails. Arthur then made his way to the forecastle deck, where he kept watch. As much as he enjoyed actively helping his crewmen, there was nothing quite like keeping watch on a calm day. When the weather was just right, the deep blue expanse of water was clear enough to see the reef at the bottom. More often than not, the ocean seemed to touch the sky, and to Arthur, there was something about the vastness of it all that was strangely captivating. 

A succession of water splashing to his right caught his attention, and he peered over the side to investigate. He smiled, finding a pod of dolphins swimming in the wake of the bow. They spun and surfaced alongside the ship, occasionally chasing after each other and diving deeper. Knowing better than to let Grimshaw catch him drawing instead of doing his job, he watched them with rapt attention, trying to memorize as many details as he could. Yet it wasn’t long before he climbed the outside of the rigging to get a better look. He looped his arm around a rope to anchor himself, and it briefly occurred to him how childish the action was. Although the thought hardly lasted more than a second before his eye caught a flash of something colorful underneath the surface in his peripheral. 

He squinted as he scanned the surface of the water, unsure of what he’d seen. There wasn’t much else other than their ship and the pod, yet as Arthur’s stare returned to the dolphins, he noticed a longer silhouette among them closer to the hull. 

“Mr. Morgan! Just what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

If it weren’t for the arm he’d looped around the rope, he would’ve fallen right in. Even as a grown man of thirty-six, Miss Grimshaw’s scolding could still put the fear of God into him. He turned to find her standing behind the rigging on deck with her arms folded across her chest. A scowl contorted her features, and he tried offering her a smile as he climbed down from his perch. 

“I should have you flogged for such behavior!” 

“I was only taking a peek,”

“You may be able to handle yourself on a ship, but I trust the other young men about as far as I can throw them. The last thing I need is for them to copy you and then need their asses hauled out of the ocean!” She huffed. 

He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips despite her disgruntlement. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

“It better not,” she replied with a quirked eyebrow. 

“I’ll wait for them to go below deck next time,”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm, although the small grin that pulled at the corner of her mouth revealed her mirth as she left him.

He smiled and stole one last lingering glance at the sea as Sean’s singing reached his ears. It came as no surprise when he recognized it as “Spanish Lady”, and he hummed along as others joined. 

-

It took five days before the shores of Thieves’ Landing came into sight. The island was a sight for sore eyes as he leaned forward against the side of the boat. Rocky hills surrounded by lush forests loomed in the distance of the colorful buildings that were nearly stacked on top of each other along the shore. The rum distillery in the next town over had made Thieves’ Landing prosperous, and its population of residents with low morals (if having any at all) was constantly growing thanks to the well-supplied liquor, among other things, that flowed through its streets and the safety it guaranteed to the likes of them. At the heart of the town, one couldn’t toss a stone without hitting a brothel or tavern. Yet, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care for the pleasures that were commonplace at Thieves’ Landing. One careless night with a working girl ten years ago had brought an end to all that. He would never forgive himself for the devastation he had brought onto Eliza and Isaac. Their lives were but rubble now, nothing more than crumbling monuments that testified to the man that Arthur truly was. 

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and Arthur glanced to his left to find that it was Sean. The lopsided grin on his face was questionable at best, and Arthur braced himself for whatever nonsense was about to leave the Irishman’s tongue. 

“Well, Arthur, are you going to have a little fun for once with your share of the spoils?” He asked. 

He wrinkled his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Every time we stop to enjoy our plunder, you’re off in a corner moping, drinking your weight in liquor,” 

"Maybe I just like my space," he said. "Do you have any idea how annoying you can be? Just hearing you run your mouth for hours, let alone being stuck out at sea with you, is enough to drive any man insane. I’m surprised no one’s cut your tongue out yet."

"You're a real fucking funny shit, Arthur," he huffed before his grin returned with a chuckle. "I love ya, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he turned away from the view. "Not as much as you love yappin’."

"Hey!" He called as he grabbed his vest. “I mean it! I’d jump in front of a musket for ya, I would!” 

While Arthur would’ve gladly done the same for him, the words seemed trapped in his throat. The young man had quickly grown on him as any annoying little brother would. Instead, he simply shook his head. “That’s just about one of the dumbest ideas I’ve ever heard. If it ever came down to it, don’t waste your life like that.”

“Waste? Hell, it would be my pleasure!” He grinned as he continued to follow him, “You’re a great man, Mr. Morgan!” 

Arthur pretended not to hear him as he helped adjust the sails to port. Spirits on the ship were high as they dropped anchor and set up the gangplank. Thieves’ Landing was the closest thing to home for many of them. It was where they could freely indulge themselves without fear of getting arrested or worse. The island was one of the few pirate safe havens left, and even Governor Cornwall knew better than to tamper with the heavily armed town. At least for now. New Providence hadn’t been as fortunate, and while everyone in Thieves’ Landing indulged in gambling, prostitution, and drink, there wasn’t a single soul who hadn’t heard about the three warships sent by the Crown that had executed several pirate crews in Nassau two years ago. The smaller safe havens scattered throughout the Caribbean were falling one by one to the empires, and in the back of Arthur’s mind, he wondered when the same fate might befall Thieves’ Landing. It was only a matter of time. They all knew it, and those who didn’t were in denial. 

Arthur lingered on the forecastle of _The Count_ as he watched the others disembark to spend their spoils. He scowled, however, as Micah approached him. Assuming he meant well was a stretch for even Arthur’s imagination. The man’s gaze was unnervingly cold, and it often left Arthur wondering if there was even a heart somewhere within his chest. Even a bilge rat had more charm than Micah, and Arthur was convinced that whatever Dutch had seen in him a year ago was nothing more than a mirage. 

“Well, drate-poke, aren’t you going ashore to see John’s little family?”

“Ain’t you got better things to do than nose your ugly mug into my business?” Arthur muttered.

Micah shrugged, unphased by his tone. “Not really.”

“If you must know, I told Dutch earlier that I’d look after the ship for a while, make sure no one gets any wise ideas,”

“You know, why don’t you go enjoy yourself for once? You’re always staying behind, but if you ask me, you should be among the first to be able to enjoy yourself doing whatever you fancy.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. He could practically smell the ulterior motive lying beneath his words. “I’m good, thanks.”

Micah frowned, and he muttered under his breath as he reluctantly left the ship. Arthur kept his eyes on him until he disappeared somewhere among the crowd on the pier, and it was only then when he went below deck to get his satchel. After checking to make sure his journal was inside, he returned to the main deck and sat on the steps leading up to the helm. Arthur opened up to the next blank page as he recalled the sight of the dolphins, and he had only started to sketch out the rough shapes before Hosea left the captain’s quarters. 

“What are you doing there, Arthur?” He asked as he walked over, his eyes scanning the page of blocked out shapes. 

“I saw a pod of dolphins earlier, thought I’d try drawing them while watching the ship,”

“I have no doubt you’ll capture the sight beautifully,” he smiled, “why don’t you leave the ship watching to me?” 

His brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to join Dutch and the others?” 

“I’m an old man now, Arthur. The only thing I’m interested in on that shore is the rum, but there’ll be time for that when the others return. Go on, see John’s family. I’m perfectly fine with waiting here.”

Arthur smiled up at him as he tucked his journal away. He then patted him on the back to wordlessly express his gratitude before making his way down the gangplank.

The house that Abigail and Jack lived in was located just before the outskirts of town. Abigail didn’t see the need to live in the heart of Thieves’ Landing, where most of the debauchery was, especially when Jack was only four. As much as she had loved sailing the seas with them, her first and foremost desire was to give Jack a peaceful life with some semblance of normalcy. It certainly was far from perfect, but Arthur had to agree that a pirate ship was no place for a child. While their voyages to the safe haven were unpredictable, the boy didn’t need to spend his days wondering if there would be a tomorrow. 

Arthur came up to the house that was nestled between two other Georgian houses, all with similar symmetrical front facades. The Flemish bonded bricks showed only minimal weathering, and as he stood underneath the small pedimented portico, he lifted a hand to knock before hearing Abigail’s voice. Arthur hesitated. He didn’t need to hear what she was saying to know that she and John had gotten into another argument, yet he carefully pressed his ear to the door to listen anyway. Despite her muffled voice, he could make out that she was talking about Tempest Bay. With a sigh, he knocked on the door and braced himself for the barrage of questions that would surely come. 

Abigail opened the door shortly after, her face pinched in anger as her fiery eyes met his. “Is it true you all are going to Tempest Bay?” 

“Good afternoon to you as well, Abigail,” he smiled as he tipped his tricorn hat. 

John smirked from where he leaned against the painted banister as she rolled her eyes and gestured for him to enter. He obliged her, yet before he could sit in the upholstered chair that was beside a window, Jack ran over to hug him tightly. Arthur smiled as he ruffled the boy’s hair before kneeling down to his level. 

“Why, look how much you’ve grown!” He said as he placed his hat on Jack’s head. It fell over his eyes, and the boy laughed as he tried pushing it further back. Jack beamed at his praise before taking the thin, single braid in Arthur’s hair between his fingers. Arthur could tell he was eyeing the small teal beads woven into the braid, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Charles braided them.”

“Could he braid mine?” 

Arthur laughed. “I don’t think yours is quite long enough!”

“And it won’t be for some time,” Abigail added. 

Jack pouted at that, but Arthur said nothing more as he straightened himself before taking a seat. It was easy to make himself at home in their house, although his level of comfort varied depending on the trouble John got himself into with Abigail. While Abigail was once a part of their crew, Jack was where she drew the line. Arthur couldn’t blame her, but John oftentimes had mixed feelings. He was a man who found his value in what he did, and he had yet to find the balance between his family and the lifestyle he had been devoted to for nearly fifteen years. Not that Arthur could blame him. He doubted he could do much better. In fact, he hadn’t. Arthur had failed miserably at trying to live in both worlds.

“Arthur, is Dutch really planning on sailin’ to Tempest Bay?” 

The question shook him from his grim musings as his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Unfortunately.”

“That’s just about the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard of!”

“It’s either that or Port Mercer, Abi,” John replied, and Arthur could tell by his wearied tone that it was a point he had tried to make earlier. “According to Dutch, there’s good money to make in Coronado.”

“Is it really worth the risk?” She asked.

“Whether it’s worth the risk or not,” Arthur said as he withdrew his journal, “we’ve done riskier things before, and starting a mutiny against Dutch is the last thing I want to do.”

Even as Arthur sketched out his drawing, he could tell Abigail wasn’t satisfied. It was clear as day that she had more arguments up her sleeve against them going, but she held her tongue, and quietly resigned herself to accepting that they were sailing to Tempest Bay whether she liked it or not.

A silence settled in the room, and Jack leaned against the armchair Arthur was sitting in as he watched him draw. Yet, the quiet only lasted for a few minutes before Jack spoke.

“Are those dolphins?” 

“Sure are,”

“When I’m a pirate, I want to see dolphins, too!”

“You will do no such thing!” Abigail chided. “You don’t have to be a pirate to see dolphins. I’ve met plenty of sailors and fishermen who have seen them.”

Jack pushed his lower lip out as he frowned, and Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at his expression. “Your mother’s right, ‘sides, soon enough, there won’t be any more pirates.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged as he tried to think of the right words. “Well...”

“What Uncle Arthur means is that people are finding better things to do,”

Arthur nodded, thankful for Abigail’s ability to handle the subject with tact. Her answer seemed to satisfy Jack for the moment as he continued to follow the way Arthur’s pencil moved gracefully over the page. 

Abigail watched the two of them, momentarily forgetting her unease. “How long are you all staying this time?”

“We set sail again in two days,” John answered as he folded his arms across his chest. It was clear that not even he liked his answer, and Arthur focused on his drawing as Abigail’s face fell.

“That’s it?”

He nodded.

“Well, guess that explains the new dress,” she fidgeted with the long sleeve of her gown, a deep crease between her brows as her gaze shifted between Arthur and John. “Look out for each other, alright? I don’t want nothin’ happening to you two while you’re gone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” Arthur replied.


	2. Blind Spot

Arthur sat at his usual table inside the tavern that was endearingly called O'Shea's. It was owned by a woman who had captured Dutch's interest in more ways than one. Although Arthur knew Molly didn't have the man's heart the way she thought she did. Other than Hosea, there was only one other person who had ever truly had it, and she had passed away a few years before Bessie. 

While Dutch had his own reasons for favoring the establishment, the crew also preferred it over the others. Between the welcoming atmosphere, the gambling, and the food that was more often than not paired with fine liquor, it was impossible not to be drawn to the establishment. The other ladies who worked at the tavern were friendly, and they even helped the crew by passing along helpful information. They were often repaid with a small share of their plunder as well as the crew's indulgence in drink when they were around. While Arthur wasn't interested in any propositions, he enjoyed the ladies' company. Tilly Jackson had been one of them until Arthur convinced her that she was perfectly capable of sailing with them. She was sweet, but there was no denying the fiery spirit she had. He saw her as a sister, and Tilly oftentimes helped keep him sane while out at sea. The other women were formidable in their own right but had no desire to join their voyages. Arthur couldn't blame them. They had their own success on land, why would they ever need to risk their lives out on the seas that could be rough and unforgiving? 

Arthur looked up from his drink to watch the other patrons that crowded the tavern. The candles that hung above on chandeliers flickered dimly compared to the lanterns hung on the walls. Their light filled the tavern with their warm glow, and Arthur leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He had now been out far later than he would have liked. According to his pocket watch, it was nearly one in the morning, although his heavy eyelids and the ache behind his eyes had told him the time an hour ago. Yet, he resigned himself to finishing his bottle of rum as he watched the lively crowd from a distance. 

It had been just yesterday when he'd stopped by the Marston's home, and he frowned as he recalled the conversation they had. Arthur never enjoyed seeing Abigail worried, and he tried to keep his thoughts from lingering on how easily John could lose everything he had in just a blink of an eye. John risked far more than Arthur was comfortable with to live the life he was so determined to hold onto. Other than the riches they stole, there was nothing to gain and everything to lose. 

No, Arthur thought with a frown. That wasn’t quite true. Both he and John had joined Dutch and Hosea to gain a freedom that had been out of their reach. They’d had nothing to lose at the time, and while that still applied to Arthur, John was different. John had a family to love and look after while Arthur had no one outside their crew. 

His eyes settled on Lenny, Uncle, and Pearson. They were playing cards and gambling with a few strangers, and Arthur smiled to himself as Lenny won the pot. He then noticed someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye and turned to find Hosea. The man offered him a smile and took a seat beside him. The single gold earring he wore caught the soft light in the tavern, glinting as it swayed. The small golden hoop had belonged to Bessie years ago, and Hosea had never been quite the same since her passing. Her fever had come without warning, and while their small crew of five at the time had tried their best to keep moving forward, none of them could deny that her death had been devastating. They had taken a year off sailing then, partly to grieve Bessie’s death, and partly because their sloop had been a challenge to properly man once Hosea dived headfirst into the bottle. 

"Just what are you thinking about now, Arthur?” Hosea asked as he offered him a new bottle of rum. 

Arthur thanked him with a smile. “You know me, I don’t do much thinking.”

He snorted. “You’re a terrible liar, always have been. You’d be better off pretending like we used to than lying.”

“Like that was any better,” he replied as he wrinkled his nose. “You and Dutch had me dressing up as some ridiculous things in the past. Pretending to be a duke’s daughter was by far the worst. It’s still a mystery to me how you two convinced me into wearing that dress.”

Hosea laughed at that. “You can’t put _all_ the blame on us. You knew it was a good lead and that there was money at the end of it.”

He shook his head. “Had I known you’d put me in a corset on top of it all, I would’ve said no.”

“Oh, of course,” he smirked at him as he raised his rum bottle to his lips, “and I’m the most honest sailor you ever did see.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, knowing despite his words how he would’ve done as Hosea asked all those years regardless of what it entailed. The truth was that he’d follow Hosea through hell and high water, even straight to Davy Jones’ Locker. 

Hosea’s expression hardened as he set his rum down on the table. “But in all seriousness, I can tell something’s troubling you.”

There it was. The man beside him had always been able to read him like an open book. He’d practically raised him as his own, after all, and Arthur knew Hosea had partly joined him due to the thoughts he could sense churning in his mind. “I guess Tempest Bay has me worried about John and his family. You know as well as I do that I ain’t fit to look after them if something happens to John.”

“First of all, that isn’t true,” he chided. “What happened to Eliza and Isaac was out of your control. You can't blame yourself for something that was out of your hands.” When Arthur said nothing, he continued, “secondly, we’re taking all necessary precautions when we arrive in Tempest Bay. This feud between Colm and Dutch has been around for years. We aren’t about to let our guard down now.”

“I know,” he sighed, “but I can’t seem to shake the feeling.”

“Me neither,” Hosea admitted, “but what other choice do we have?”

“We could avoid Coronado altogether, for one,” 

He chuckled to himself. “Trust me, I’ve tried suggesting that one, but you know how Dutch is once he has an idea set in his mind.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said as he raised his own bottle to his lips. “Anyway, who volunteered to relieve you of your ship-watching, old man?” 

He grinned and lightly swatted him on the arm for the harmless insult. “Kieran did, said he’d rather have the quiet of the ship than the raucous, drunken revelry of Thieves’ Landing.”

Arthur scowled. “You trust that bastard to watch the ship?” 

“I do,” 

“Once an O’Driscoll, always an O’Driscoll,”

“Except he was never one of them to begin with,” Hosea countered. “He’s been with us for several months now. Kieran’s a good kid.”

He scoffed at that. “Whatever you say.”

\--

Arthur leaned against the side of the boat, watching the cresting waves as Uncle told his tall tales to anyone who would listen. The only one who ever seemed to believe him was Bill, and Arthur was convinced that the others only lent an ear out of boredom. Sometimes, Sean would pipe up with a snarky comment, but more often than not, the Irishman settled for embellishing Uncle’s stories with outlandish details. Although Arthur could never determine if Sean believed the myths they told or if he was simply having fun. 

While Arthur would never admit it outright, there was a part of him that enjoyed hearing the stories they told. He would linger within hearing distance as he occupied himself with a task to make it seem like he wasn’t listening. There were some instances, however, when Sean would catch him in the act if he wasn’t careful, and as Arthur stared out at the ocean, the Irishman decided to call him out on his eavesdropping. 

“Oi! Why don’t you come closer if you’re so keen on listening, Morgan?”

Arthur’s head whipped toward their direction, and he scowled at Sean, who was sitting on a barrel and wearing a smug grin. “It’s hard _not_ to listen when you all talk so loud!”

“Oh, come on! You enjoy our stories, I know you do!”

Knowing how rotten of a liar he was, he said nothing as he begrudgingly made his way over. Charles and John were among them, although, Charles seemed more focused on the knife he was sharpening than the story that was being told. Uncle easily picked up where he left off, spinning his tale about a sailor he’d met who’d seen mermaids firsthand off the coast of Santiago, and how they were as beautiful as they were deadly. The description caused Sean to frown as he leaned forward.

“That sailor is lying through his teeth! _Murdúchann_ are benevolent folk! It’s _murúch,_ or sirens, you need to be wary of.”

“Both of you are full of shit,” Arthur muttered. 

"Don't you believe in mermaids, Arthur?" Uncle asked.

"Sure," he scoffed, "maybe thirty years ago! If you ask me, mermaids were invented by wives who refused to believe their man had either left them or died at sea."

Sean shook his head. “Don’t you have any room for dreams, English?”

“I’ll answer that one for you,” Uncle said, “man’s about as sour as week-old milk, I’d be surprised if he had any dreams at all, waking or sleeping!”

Arthur frowned as they laughed. "Listen, dreams or not, there ain't no such thing as mermaids. After all these years, we would've seen some by now if they existed!"

"Always a doubter, have you ever considered that maybe they don't want to be seen?" Sean argued.

“No, but it _has_ occurred to me that the two of you lie about as often as you breathe,”

Uncle turned to Charles just then, who braced himself when the older man’s attention zeroed in on him. “Charles, do you really think I’d lie about such a thing?”

His eyes narrowed a hair at the question. “I hardly know you.”

“I’ll save you the trouble, Charles,” Arthur said, “the answer is yes. You can’t trust this man to do anything except drink his weight in rum.”

“And you certainly can’t trust him to do anything at all,” John added. “Uncle does less work than a barnacle.”

Uncle frowned at that, casting a warning glare in their direction. “You two have no respect! You all act so tough, but you whine more than a bunch of wives!”

“Is that so?” Arthur asked. “Seems like you’re the only one doing the whining at the moment.”

With a huff, Uncle dismissed his comment with a curt wave of his hand before leaving their company. Arthur and John snickered to themselves, and while Sean was amused, he picked up their argument where they’d left off. “Just you wait, Morgan! One of these days, you’ll spot a lovely sea maiden with your own two eyes, and not a single soul will believe you.”

Arthur simply rolled his eyes, choosing to leave the conversation altogether, knowing that Sean would have a quip or retort no matter what he said. 

\--

For Arthur, there was nothing quite like the morning watch. Most of the crew was still asleep before the crack of dawn, and seeing the blazing morning sun surface from the sea was his favorite part of the day. On most mornings, the sea was still, stretching for miles ahead of them, and reflecting the soft pink and orange hues of dawn. Arthur didn’t think magic existed, but every once in a while, he’d witness a sunrise that nearly convinced him otherwise. 

While keeping an eye out for ships or obstacles that could disrupt their voyage, Arthur spent his time drawing and writing in his journal. As he added a few finishing touches to his drawing of the dolphin pod, he smiled to himself as he reflected on his past. When Hosea had gifted him his first journal, it had taken him some time to adjust to the rocking of the ship while drawing. His first few sketches had been messy due to that fact, but now, the constant shifting was hardly noticeable.

Arthur paused as he examined his work, holding it out at an arm’s length before his brow furrowed. The dolphins surfacing among the waves only had a few minor mistakes that could’ve been corrected had he been more attentive. His frown, however, wasn’t caused by that. It was directed at the long silhouette he’d unintentionally included beneath the curious dolphins. By the time he’d realized what he had done, it had been too late. Arthur would have to tear out the entire page to fix it, and while it confused him, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Of course, like all good things, the morning’s quiet didn’t last long. As the crew slowly began to start the day’s work, Arthur could hear bickering from within the captain’s quarters. With Tempest Bay drawing ever closer, Arthur had a good idea of what the argument was about. He had seen Micah knock on the doors just a few moments earlier with Pearson in tow, and he had no doubt the man had brought up some outlandish idea. With a sigh, he asked Lenny to take over his post and opened the doors to the captain’s quarters.

It didn’t surprise him when he found Hosea sitting in a chair across from Dutch, skeptically eyeing Micah with a deep crease between his brows. Their captain, oddly enough, didn’t seem convinced either as his heated gaze rested on the windows to his right. Although, Arthur had to admit he hadn't expected to find that Pearson was the one relaying a plan that was undoubtedly a fool’s errand. Pearson glanced over his shoulder and greeted him before returning his attention to Dutch.

“As I was saying,” Pearson said, “perhaps peace is more negotiable than you think it is. You’ve had this feud for _years_ now, and I know how you feel about Colm, but—”

Micah groaned. “Just get it out, fat man!”

“Well, we ran into some O’Driscolls at Thieves’ Landing. At first, I thought they were there to start some trouble, but we got to talking, and it turns out Colm’s been talking about a parley to end things like gentlemen.”

“Gentlemen?” Dutch’s fiery eyes landed on Pearson as he rose from his seat. “So Colm O’Driscoll thinks that after all these years he can suddenly be a _gentleman?_ That bastard is the farthest thing from it! Both of you have lost your damn mind!”

“Dutch, I know that man has done unspeakable things, but imagine the advantages a parley would bring you,” Micah said. “We wouldn’t have to think twice about docking at Tempest Bay! Peace might even bring you some closure with what happened to Annabelle.”

"You're treading on some mighty thin ice, my friend,” Dutch snapped. 

He raised his hands to show he meant no harm and continued despite his warning. “You’re always telling us that some wars ain’t worth fighting, what if this is one of them?”

Hosea shook his head. He'd heard enough. “The O’Driscolls don’t have a peaceful bone in their body. This is clearly a trap.”

“And we can be prepared if it is,” Micah replied as exasperation crept into his tone. “I ain’t saying we have to go in there blind or unarmed!"

“You know," Arthur started, "this feud between you and him needs to be put to rest one way or another. I agree with Hosea, but if you really think Colm's interested in a parley, then I'm coming with you to have your back."

The fire in Dutch’s eyes dissipated as he smiled at Arthur. “Thank you, son.”

Hosea, however, wasn’t pleased at all, and while Arthur avoided his gaze, he could feel his eyes burning holes into him. Risking their lives was nothing new, but Hosea had never been quick to support plans with little thought and risks that outnumbered the reward. He rose from his high-backed chair and headed toward the cabin doors.

“Arthur, would you spare a moment with an old man?”

Hosea’s tone brooked no argument despite his light words, and Arthur followed him outside. They weaved in between crew members as they walked over to the forecastle. Arthur braced himself for the inevitable lecture he was about to receive. Not even the age of thirty-six spared him from Hosea acting as his father figure. Nonetheless, he was grateful for it, even if it was a pain sometimes.

The older gentleman leaned against the side of the boat as the breeze toyed with his graying hair, and Arthur wondered just when the strands had lost their blond color. Some days, it felt to him as if it was just yesterday when he was fourteen. Much had changed since then, but he still looked up to Hosea as he did when he was young.

“You’re smarter than this, Arthur,” 

“I really ain’t,”

Hosea shook his head. “You know that’s not true.”

He sighed. “I don’t trust Micah. I’d rather be there myself to help if something went sideways.”

His mouth formed a grim line, and while he remained silent, Arthur could tell there was a lot on his mind. 

“It’ll be fine, Hosea,”

While he nodded, Arthur knew he wasn’t convinced. Yet he couldn’t blame him. There was no telling how things would unfold, or if Colm truly wanted peace. The run-ins he had in the past with the rival captain were anything but pleasant, and unease settled in his gut as Tempest Bay appeared on the horizon.

Unlike Thieves’ Landing, the island was mostly flat. At the foot of the forested rolling hills was a long stretch of beach that had rows of buildings with clay-tiled roofs standing side by side. While the city was just as crowded as Thieves’ Landing, the sight of it alone was suffocating to Arthur, and the fact that it was infested with O’Driscolls made his skin crawl. 

The only crew members who left the ship to restock supplies were Charles, Javier, John, and Bill. No one was eager to leave the ship, and if they did, they didn’t venture past the row of merchants along the harbor. Micah and Pearson were the exceptions. It was their job to organize the parley arrangement with the O’Driscolls before reporting back with the details of their meeting. In the meantime, the minutes couldn’t tick by any slower. There wasn’t any amount of pipe smoking, writing, or card playing with the others that could distract him from the dread that continued to eat away at him. He couldn’t get Hosea’s words out of the forefront of his mind, and it cost him all the bets he made while playing One and Thirty with Sean and Javier.

It was evening by the time Arthur finally had the sense to quit. He heard the gangplank shift as he rose to his feet, signaling someone was boarding, and he turned to find that Micah and Pearson had returned. Arthur trailed after them as they headed straight for the captain’s quarters.

The plan was to meet Colm at the tavern that was beside a yellow house with a white balcony. It was, according to the O’Driscolls, a building that they couldn’t miss, and it was there that they would meet to discuss the terms of their parley. In case the arrangement was a trap, Arthur was to watch the backdoor from outside while Micah stayed with Dutch.

They left the ship shortly after, and Arthur shook his head as they weaved their way through the crowded street. It made sense why Micah had to come, but Arthur had yet to find any reason to trust the man to have his back. Although he knew that Micah would at least have Dutch’s, and Arthur reasoned that was enough to protect their captain while inside. “I still think we should’ve brought another person.”

“You two are all I need. Besides, Arthur, I wouldn’t want anyone other than you protecting us. We’re going to be fine.”

“What about John? Don’t you trust him?” 

“Of course, I trust him, but he has a family. I’d hate for something to happen to him if this goes sideways.”

Arthur had to admit that Dutch had a point, but before he could reply, he heard Micah groan on the other side of Dutch. “Here he goes, doubting Thomas, once again sour on a plan.”

He frowned at him. “You ain’t seen what Colm can do. I’m just nervous.” 

“This is worth the risk, Morgan. Between Cornwall and his navy ships, and the other empires who have no need for privateers anymore, we really can’t afford to have an ongoing conflict with them _and_ the O’Driscolls.” 

“He has a point, Arthur,” Dutch mused as they rounded a bend. “There is some wisdom to be found in that.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see the way Micah basked in their captain’s praise, straightening his posture as his thick mustache curled upward. It sickened Arthur, although he wasn’t sure why.

As they were told, it would’ve been impossible to miss the yellow house. It stood out brightly among the other buildings, and its sparkling white balconies were decorated with hanging plants. The tavern, however, seemed run down compared to the lavish home. It almost made Arthur glad that he would be staying outside. The place made the taverns and bars at Thieves’ Landing seem like mansions in comparison. 

They parted ways once they reached the tavern, and Arthur made his way around the building to the backdoor as Micah and Dutch went inside. He leaned against the brick wall beside the door, glad to have a clear view of the entire alley from where he stood. It was a waiting game now. While Arthur didn’t like it one bit, he stood dutifully at his post. He had no way to know what was happening within the tavern’s walls. The thought made him feel uneasy, and he tried to refocus his mind on his surroundings.

Despite the raucous crowd inside the tavern, he could hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the beach between the evening bird calls. The two helped bring him some peace of mind, and he drew a deep breath of the salty air as a gentle breeze came through the alley. From where he stood, he could only see a glimpse of the ocean as it reflected the fading sunset. Arthur allowed his gaze to linger on the sight for a moment before refocusing on the task at hand.

The sound of footsteps farther down the alley to his right caught his attention, and he frowned. There were two sets of them, and their owners sounded far too sober for his liking. Arthur’s hand lowered to his flintlock pistol as he continued to listen. Two male voices speaking in hushed tones reached his ears, and when they rounded the corner, the green scarf around their head made it clear whose allegiance they swore to. Their eyes locked with Arthur’s, and while one seemed stunned to cross paths with Arthur, the taller gentleman smirked at the sight they stumbled upon.

“Well, if it isn’t Dutch’s scrub!” He smirked. “You’re awfully far from the rest of your crew.”

Arthur shrugged off the insult. “You must rank awfully low in Colm’s crew.”

His smirk shifted into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you’re a clueless sack of shit, so keep walkin’,”

The man’s eyes narrowed before he broke into sharp laughter and elbowed his friend in the side. “Do you hear this? This fecker has the bollix to tell us what to do on our own land!”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” the other mused as he cracked a crooked smile, “typical English.”

“As much as I’d love to watch you make a fool out of yourself the rest of the night,” the taller gentleman said, “the two of us are going inside that tavern for a drink.”

Arthur straightened himself and turned to face them. “The front door works perfectly fine.”

“And so does this one. Step aside!” 

“Ain’t gonna happen,” he replied, staring them down as he refused to move from his post.

He folded his arms across his chest as his smile turned smug. “That’s some talk coming from a pretty boy like you!”

Arthur opened his mouth, having a sharp retort on his tongue, but froze as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The dread he’d been wrestling with came over him all at once, and he turned just in time to see another man swinging a pistol. Before he could react, the wood and metal stock made contact with his temple, causing a loud smack to echo against the stone walls. The blow sent him to the ground, and he grimaced as the cobblestone bit and tore away at his face. His head rang as the world began to spin, and he had barely made it onto his hands and knees before a hand seized the hair at the back of his head. Arthur tried in vain to remove it as he was forced to look at the O’Driscoll who had insulted him. 

“What was that you were saying about being clueless, boyo?” He sneered. “We know _exactly_ why you’re here, and we have our own orders to follow.”

Arthur cursed them as he struggled against his tunneling vision, only to receive another blow, just like the first. The stabbing pain that filled his skull intensified, and despite his best efforts, he collapsed against the cobblestone and slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be more of a challenge than I originally thought.😅 Don't know why, but it was. Also, Mer!Albert will be appearing in the next chapter. 
> 
> Again, if you have any questions, feel free to ask them! If you don't feel comfortable asking them in the comments, you can DM me on Tumblr. My URL is snikt-snack.
> 
> Also, I recognize that some pieces of dialogue might be offensive (like the bit about the wives from Uncle and Micah's comment about Pearson), but they are directly taken from the game to keep individuals to their character and to be relatively true to the time period. 
> 
> Thank you all for your support and lovely comments!! They are greatly appreciated <3


	3. Come Hell or High Water

Despite the pounding in his head and the ache in his shoulders, Arthur glared at the few lingering O’Driscolls from where he sat. They had chained him to the wall of the ‘tween deck after hauling him to the ship, his arms bound above his head in irons. The low light from the lanterns flickered across their sneering faces, and while Arthur’s heated stare didn’t break, his chest tightened as he heard the all too familiar clanking as the crew above weighed the anchor. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he'd been dragged aboard, but he knew that sound meant that Colm had rejoined his crew. 

There was no telling if he had actually attended the parley arrangement with Dutch, or if anyone had the hunch that he was missing. While the O’Driscolls had taken everything off his person, he didn’t need a pocket watch to know that it had been no more than two hours since he had unwillingly stepped on board. It wasn’t uncommon for Arthur to go drinking by himself for a few hours, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that it would take his crew till morning to realize something was amiss. 

Yet, he refused to reveal his internal despair. His scowl didn’t break, and it only hardened when the steps to the ‘tween deck creaked as Colm joined them. A sneer twisted his lips as he examined Arthur’s state, eyes lingering on the cut just above Arthur’s brow and straightening his worn emerald frock coat as he walked over. 

“Arthur Morgan, it’s been a while,” Colm smugly noted. 

“Not nearly long enough,” Arthur retorted. “It would please me to no end if I never saw you again.”

The captain knelt in front of him and took hold of his chin. “Still talking a big talk even in chains. In all your years of sailing with Dutch, I’m surprised you ain’t learned that that sort of thing gets you nowhere in this world.”

Arthur chose to simply glare at him, the creaking of the ship filling the silence as it lazily rocked with the sea.

The corner of his mouth pulled higher. “It’s a real shame you choose to sail with the likes of him. What a waste of your potential.”

Arthur jerked his chin out of his grasp. “What are you doing here, Colm? Why don’t you let me go, end all this between you and Dutch? Ain’t no one got the time or the resources to fight more battles than necessary with the government hunting us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. They ain’t hunting _my_ crew. I’m playing their little game, for now, a king’s pardon in exchange for the heads of you folk. The way I see it, if we hand you and the rest of Dutch’s crew over, they forget about us. We become known as the crew that brought in the infamous Dutch van der Linde, leaving us to sail the seas in peace.”

Arthur’s stare hardened. Hosea had been right to call the parley a trap, and dread pooled into his gut as he realized he had no way to warn them. 

“Once Dutch realizes we have you,” he continued, “he’s gonna try his damn best to rescue you, sailing right into Cornwall’s hands.”

“And just how the hell is he gonna know where to find you?” Arthur muttered.

“I told him we were sailing to Port Denis in Lakay to deliver some precious cargo. Once he realizes I have you, he’ll come raging in to rescue you, and he’ll be none the wiser that Cornwall's navy will be waiting for him.” 

Arthur clenched his numb hands into tight fists, wishing he could punch the smirk off his face. “You ain’t gonna get away with this. Dutch will know it’s a trap.”

“Just like he knew _this_ was a trap?” Colm snorted. “He won’t see Cornwall coming until it’s too late.”

“You son of a—” a sharp kick to his ribs silenced his insult and was followed by a few more. He grimaced as he cried out, and Colm wrapped a hand tightly around his throat before he could catch his breath. The snickers of the few O’Driscolls who looked on reached his ears as he locked eyes with their captain.

“Here’s how this is going to work in the meantime.” He sneered, his amused expression turning cold. “Until you’re ready to cooperate, you will stay chained where you are without food or water. As long as you’re kept alive, my crew is allowed to do whatever they want to you. But if you choose to play nice, you will be fed, and no one will be allowed to lay a finger on you. You’ll work like any other crew member, and if you’re good, you might be treated like one.”

Arthur couldn’t fight the coughs that escaped him when his neck was released, and he glared at Colm as they subsided. "You want me to work for you only to be hung where you port next? I'd rather be keelhauled."

"Suit yourself," Colm straightened himself, and as he and the others returned to the main deck, Arthur let his head fall back against the wall. He closed his eyes as he heard the crew above him begin to ready the ship to set sail. There had been many situations that Arthur had been able to get himself out of, but all of them paled in comparison to the one he was in now. Now that they were leaving port, he couldn’t see himself making it off the ship alive, let alone rejoining his crew. He would never see any of them again, and his heart sank at the thought. 

\--

John studied the dock with narrowed eyes. Dutch and Micah had returned to the ship without Arthur sometime before dawn. When he’d asked them where Arthur was, Dutch’s reply was that he thought the master gunner had gone back to the ship earlier. John mentioned he hadn’t seen Arthur since they’d left for their parley, and it was then that Dutch patted him on the back and assured him that he was most likely drinking at a tavern. 

“You know how he gets,” he’d said. “He’ll be back by sunrise.”

Yet there was still no sign of Arthur by the time the sun rose above the sea, and there was no shaking the anxiety that coiled in John’s chest. It only grew as time went on, and he quickly rose to his feet when he caught sight of Charles making his way back to _The Count_. He tried to ignore the fact that he was alone, and he ran a hand through his hair as he strode over to the gangplank, where he waited for the man.

“Well?” he asked as he searched Charles’ face for answers. “Any sign of him?”

Charles looked almost as tired as he felt, and his gaze softened as he met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find him.”

“Maybe he went farther into town,”

“John,” he sighed as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “I tried looking nearly everywhere.”

“ _Maybe_ he turned yellow and decided to cut and run,”

John whirled around to find Micah leaning against the mast. He glared at him, hands balling into tight fists, and Charles had to hold his shoulders with both hands to keep him from lunging at him. “Arthur ain’t like that! You have some nerve calling him a deserter!” 

Micah smirked as he continued to sharpen his knife. “Times are changing. A life of piracy ain’t what it used to be. Maybe he ain’t cut out for it anymore.”

“You son of a bitch!” John spat as Charles’ hold on him grew tighter. While he knew breaking free from him was impossible, he still fought harder against him, thrashing like a fish on the line. Everything inside him wanted to beat Micah to a pulp. Hell, even the thought of shooting the man between the eyes was far more appealing than it should’ve been. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” 

The doors to the captain’s quarters opened as Dutch joined them with Hosea following closely behind. His eyes shifted from Micah to Charles and John, his brow furrowed at John’s bristling. “Just what is going on out here?” 

“Arthur is missing,” Charles answered.

“And Micah’s insinuating he’s a coward!” 

Hosea’s posture straightened as he processed the news, and John could tell the man wasn’t sure who deserved the heat of his gaze more. Their quartermaster was beyond livid, his anger burning white-hot behind his eyes. Despite his thin frame and age, Dutch’s fury paled in comparison to Hosea’s. Unlike Dutch, his outbursts were precise and cutting, directed in such a way that made even Bill Williamson tremble in his boots. By now, a few others had started to eavesdrop from where they stood, no doubt waiting to see how Hosea would use his sharp tongue to cut through Micah. 

“You better watch your goddamn mouth,” he finally said to Micah before turning to Dutch, “inside, _now_.”

Dutch braced himself as he followed Hosea back inside. He had faced Hosea’s wrath many times over the years, but that didn’t make withstanding it any easier. As he shut the door behind him, the man stood with his arms crossed in front of the table where their map was still unfurled. Dutch didn’t need to see his face to know Hosea was looking over their charted course, and he had a few guesses as to what was running through his mind.

“You said earlier this morning that Arthur had decided to get a few drinks,”

“That was where I thought he was, Hosea. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“ _Thought?_ ” Hosea barked as he rounded on him, stepping into his space and leaving only an inch between them. “Are you saying that’s where you _assumed_ he went?”

“He’s done it before,” he argued, “how was I supposed to know something was wrong?”

“Arthur knows better than to drink alone in Tempest Bay! He doesn’t have that kind of luxury with how long he’s been with us.” 

Dutch opened his mouth to reply, yet found himself at a loss for words as he held Hosea’s gaze. His eyes, while still flickering with ire, were filled with worry, and the sight made Dutch’s heart lurch in his chest. Guilt crashed over him all at once, and he looked away. He couldn’t bear to look into his eyes, where he saw the very same fear and concern that he felt.

“I’m sorry, Hosea,” he finally whispered, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Our boy is now who knows where, and it’s my fault.”

Hosea’s gaze softened as he gently lifted Dutch’s chin to look him in the eye. “We’ll find him. He can’t have gone far. I’ll send Charles and John out to look for him again.”

He was silent for a moment before his expression darkened as a deep frown settled between his brows. “He’s not on the island.”

Hosea studied him, clearly uncertain. “How do you know for sure?”

“Colm mentioned he had plans to sail to Port Denis to drop off some ‘precious cargo’,” he replied, “I swear if he so much as lays a finger on Arthur, I’ll save Cornwall the trouble and hang the bastard myself!”

Hosea paused. Port Denis was known for the strong navy presence it held as well as its gallows that were regularly put to use. Both of them knew the implications of Colm’s comment, although neither of them wanted to verbalize what he intended to do with Arthur. “So, what’s the plan, Dutch?” 

He drew a deep breath through his nose as he stroked his mustache in thought. “Coronado can wait. We need to get to Port Denis.”

\--

Arthur flexed his wrists against the iron that held him. Judging from what sunlight had filtered through the opening where the stairs were, they had been out at sea for two days. The crew of the ship had made his stay anything but comfortable in the meantime. Bound to where he was, he had suffered the brunt of their hatred toward him, Dutch, and his crew. He was their source of entertainment when boredom settled in, and as time dragged on, he realized his odds of making it out alive were little to none. The realization felt like its own noose, tightening around his neck and refusing to let go. Arthur was well acquainted with the kind of luck that followed him, and to be the potential cause of the Van der Linde crew’s demise, while devastating, was unsurprising.

He heaved a sigh as he weighed his options. Even if he could somehow escape, he had nowhere to go. He was damned if he did anything, and damned if he didn't. Yet doing _nothing_ was out of the question. Arthur refused to go down without a fight. 

One of the O'Driscolls who occasionally stood guard shifted as he tried to make himself comfortable on the crate he sat on. The man wasn't the brightest. Arthur had deduced as much when he'd witness the other crew members scold him for neglecting key details or disobeying orders. Other times, Arthur would catch him falling asleep.

He would be the easiest to convince and overpower. Arthur just had to get him to free him from his irons.

It didn’t take much to get the O’Driscoll to do so, and Arthur was surprised that the young man had taken him for his word. He was oddly naive for a pirate, and Arthur almost felt bad for taking the O’Driscoll’s knife and killing him with it.

Rain had started to come down into the ‘tween deck as he took the man’s pistol. He scowled as he held it in his hands, his eyes flitting to the increasing downpour. The weapon would be useless in the wet weather, and he would only be able to fire it once if he was lucky. Stealth, however, would give him the upper hand, and he set it aside in exchange for the dead man’s cutlass. 

Arthur hesitated at the bottom of the steps, his fingers curling tighter around the hilt. He realized then that he would not survive this. What he was about to do was suicide. He was far outnumbered and on a ship in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. The deck was crawling with Colm’s crew, and Arthur realized then that his goal was not to escape but to take as many of them down with him as he could. He had to do it, for his crew. 

For his family. 

If he could help it, he wouldn't be the only one dying that day.

Drawing a deep breath, he crept up the steps and scanned the deck. Through the sheet of rain, he saw two of Colm’s men adjusting the sails closeby. A burst of lightning tore through the dark, towering clouds above them, followed by a deafening thunderclap that drowned out the sea’s roar. Rain pelted his skin, stinging as it instantly soaked him to the bone and caused his hair to stick wetly to his face. Arthur’s eyes flitted to the sky as lightning raked through the clouds once again, and as thunder rumbled above, he lunged forward. 

The blade of his cutlass found its mark below the O’Driscoll’s ribcage, nearly going straight through the man. A stunted cry that was no louder than a gasp escaped him, and he fell onto the deck as Arthur withdrew the cutlass with a sharp tug.

The dead man’s crewmate was none the wiser as he continued to tie a knot, and he was even more unaware of his inevitable fate. He fell just as easily as the other. Yet Arthur’s element of surprise was short-lived as a man on the starboard side of the ship called out and alerted the others.

Arthur blinked away the rain and raised his sword, ready to take on his next opponent. Another thunderclap roared above, drowning out the sound of the others drawing their weapons. A searing pain sparked to life in his shoulder, taking Arthur by surprise, and he quickly realized the thunder had concealed one other sound, too. 

To his left was Colm, standing just outside his captain’s quarters with a smoking flintlock in hand. Arthur used the side of the ship to steady himself, sword still raised and ready to fight. The pirate captain smirked at the sight.

“You really do take after Dutch,” he called over the hissing rain, “all bravado and no brain.”

The heat in his shoulder spread like wildfire, yet he set his jaw and stood firm despite the rocking of the ship. 

Colm grinned wider. “Let’s not do anything else rash, hm? I’ve got a promise to keep with Cornwall, and you’ll be swinging from those gallows one way or another.”

A plume of white spray came over the side, drenching Arthur even further. He looked over his shoulder at the dark sea’s waves. They crashed violently against the ship with deadly intent, their roar nearly louder than the thunder. He swallowed and looked up at Colm. He could feel the warmth of his own blood as it poured from the wound. 

Whether it be the sea or the brig, Arthur knew he would not survive this.

Colm’s grin fell and was replaced with a scowl, his eyes burning brightly as he glared at him. Yet whatever threat he had on his tongue failed to reach Arthur’s ears as he let himself fall over the side and into the sea. The turbulent water eagerly engulfed him, pulling him under into its dark abyss. 

\--

The familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore and the cry of a lone seagull reached Arthur's ears as he came to. As he blinked his eyes open, he found himself in the shade of a lush palm tree. He squinted up at the long fronds as they swayed in the salty breeze.

He frowned as confusion clouded his mind. Arthur wasn't sure how he'd managed to find a beach, and he was convinced that he was either dead or hallucinating. While his memory was foggy, he was beginning to remember more and more as he watched the fronds. He had been shot in the shoulder on Colm's ship before choosing to fall overboard, yet as he felt around for the wound, his finger caught on a hole in his shirt and nothing more. There was no entry wound, and Arthur wasn't sure which was worse: finding no bullet when he vividly remembered the fiery pain, or finding a bullet hole in his shirt without the injury to match. 

Arthur ran a hand over his face with a groan. It didn't make sense to him, and how had he managed to swim to shore without drowning? 

"Oh good! You're alive!"

Arthur bolted upright at the unfamiliar voice and instantly regretted the quick movement. He squeezed his eyes shut as his head swam.

"Easy there, you might be healed, but there's still residual trauma you need to recover from,"

"Healed?" Arthur muttered as he massaged his closed eyes. "The hell are you talkin’ about?"

"Well, I saw the whole thing, and it wasn't too difficult to heal the wound, but those humans were not kind to you,"

"And just who do I owe my thanks to—” Arthur lifted his head from his hand, and the sight that greeted him stole his ability to speak. The man in front of him, if you could call him that, was half-submerged in the lagoon in front of him with his arms resting on a rock. His dark wavy hair (with a thick beard to match) was about the most normal thing on the stranger. His skin shimmered in the sunlight, glinting light blues and yellows, and his ears were both pointed and webbed. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen, yet he had heard plenty of Uncle and Sean's tales to know exactly what he was looking at. 

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," he groaned. 

The man, or whatever he was, furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Arthur shook his head as he gestured to the stranger. "But you're just a myth!"

He offered a smile that was intended to be warm, yet his sharp canines left Arthur feeling uneasy. "Am I?"

Arthur swore under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great, I must be in purgatory. I should've listened to Swanson more when I had the chance."

"Purgatory?" he asked as he tilted his head. "I don't think I've heard that word before. Then again, there haven't been many humans who have awakened after being saved."

"Wait, you've saved others?"

He nodded, his gaze lowering to the rock he was resting on. "Or at least tried to, anyway. You're the only one who's survived. I can't tell you how many shipwrecks I've witnessed, nor how many humans I've seen get thrown overboard by their own kind."

Arthur shook his head. "I thought mermaids—”

"Merfolk,"

He wrinkled his nose. "I thought _merfolk_ enjoyed drowning people."

"Some do,” he replied with a shrug, “but your kind has always fascinated me, and life is already unkind enough. I like helping when I can, and it provides the opportunity to study you up close."

“I see,” he grunted. “So where the hell are we?”

“Most call this isle Lakay,”

Arthur blinked, dumbfounded by his luck. “Lakay?”

“Yes, along the southern coast,”

He frowned. Arthur had never considered himself to be a lucky man. Throughout his whole life, he had never found as much luck as he did now. It left him feeling skeptical, unsure if he could trust that any of it was real. He finally scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the grit of the dried salt and sand that clung to it.

“Now I’m sure I’m dead,”

“Well, I can very much assure you the opposite,”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out,”

The man, or merman, tilted his head as his brow furrowed. “And what would that be?”

“Finding my crew for one,” he said as he tried standing up.

“Wait! I wouldn’t—”

The stranger’s warning, however, came too late. Arthur’s legs gave out from underneath him and he swore as he landed on the sand. 

“As I’ve said, you’re still recovering. The sea was quite rough last night.”

He groaned as he straightened himself, the pounding in his head only worsening as his confusion increased. “How the hell did I not drown?”

“Merfolk have salivary glands just like humans, except I discovered that ours can allow humans to breathe underwater for a fixed amount of time,”

“Wait,” he said as the blood drained from his face, “you’re telling me that _kissing_ me was what kept me from drowning?”

The merman wrinkled his nose. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Let me drown, for one,”

The water behind him stirred suddenly at that, revealing the tip of an aquamarine tail, as a deep frown settled between his brows. Yet he shook his irritation with a shake of his head and drew a deep breath before smiling at Arthur again. “Forgive me, but I just now realized that I haven’t properly introduced myself yet. My name is Albert.”

“You ain’t got a last name?”

“It doesn’t quite have the same translation in your language. Our ‘last names’ are more like a title to signify our role among our people.”

“I see,” he replied before giving in with a sigh. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.”

“Arthur Morgan,” he repeated slowly as if savoring the name, “what a lovely name.”

He chose to ignore the compliment as he tried (although slower this time) to get his feet underneath him. Steadying himself against the palm tree, he took in his surroundings again. The sea reached forever, as humbling and endless as the sky, and the shore stretched for miles on either side of him. There was no sign of the bustling ports of Lakay, which left him wondering just how far he would have to walk to reach Port Denis. Just the thought alone had his legs already aching. Albert eyed him curiously, sensing the shift in his thoughts and catching the weary look in his blue eyes that mirrored the sea.

“There’s a cove not far from here that’s shaded. You might find a few fruit trees there, and I think I stored a dinghy there not too long ago.”

Arthur scoffed. “You sound like you collect things.”

“I do!” he smiled as his eyes shone with excitement. “I’ve managed to collect quite a few things over the years! Now come on, I’ll lead you there.”

He hesitated as Albert left his rock and gestured for him to follow. Yet Arthur didn’t have many other options, and with a sigh, he found himself following Albert along the shore. Along the way, the merman talked incessantly. Between asking Arthur a thousand questions and talking about his own knowledge of humans, there wasn’t a moment of silence during their walk. 

As the sun beat down on them, Arthur’s thirst grew. The sea breeze only provided so much relief, which made the coconut trees growing beside the cove up ahead a welcomed sight. He left the water’s edge, ignoring Albert’s rambling about the mystery of human ingenuity, to examine the coconuts that had fallen from the trees. When he found one that seemed right, he picked it up as his other hand automatically reached for his knife only to find nothing. 

Arthur sighed and brought the coconut to a rockier part of the beach. Yet when he began searching for a rock heavy enough to break open the husk, Albert swam closer and called out to him.

“Here, let me get that for you, Mr. Morgan!” 

He frowned at him. “Do you even know what this is?”

It was Albert’s turn to frown. “As a matter of fact, I do. Now give it here before you get yourself sick expending far too much energy over that thing.”

Arthur merely stared at him for a moment, confused by the level of concern Albert had for him. They hardly knew each other. In fact, Arthur _still_ wasn’t sure if the merman was even real (or that he was even alive, in all honesty). Yet there Albert was, with his webbed-hand outstretched and genuinely ready to help all for the sake of his well being. He didn’t quite understand why, and it left him reeling. He found himself at a loss for words, and all he could do was toss the coconut to Albert. 

Albert caught it, and what he did next was the last thing Arthur was expecting. Using his teeth, he shredded the husk away with ease, as if it was as thin as paper. He then discarded it onto the shore and used one of his claws to carve a hole in the side. Arthur’s face must’ve shown his surprise and interest, for Albert’s smile stretched from ear to ear as he gave the fruit back to him.

Arthur muttered his thanks before drinking from the coconut, and when he finished, Albert encouraged him to get two more. The merman husked and opened them without complaint, and Arthur soon found the pounding in his head leaving altogether.

With the pain in his head gone, Arthur found his general mood lifting, and while Albert continued to talk, he found that it didn’t irritate him as much as it did before. He even found himself adding his own comments here and there, chiming in when he wanted. 

The cove Albert led him to had been nicely carved out by decades of weathering. The cliff face was smooth, with a few trees growing on top. The water had drawn out the sand on one half of the cove, leaving the other side dry. Even under unideal circumstances, Arthur found himself mesmerized by its simplistic beauty. It was peaceful here, and sure enough, there was a weathered dinghy beached on the sand. His eyes wandered farther down the cove, where he found a collection of other various items, from ornate candelabras to mirrors encased in gold. It was like finding a treasure trove, and Arthur couldn’t help but find himself drawn to the pile. 

“Where did you get all these?” he asked as he picked up a sword with a dazzling brass hilt. 

“I’ve found that humans load their cargo ships to the brim. When they sink, whether it be from pirates or rival countries, I search the remains for anything I think is valuable.”

Arthur snorted as he unsheathed the sword and held it out to get a feel for it. “Some of these are _more_ than valuable.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I’m not necessarily interested in their monetary value. I find the knowledge they offer far more fascinating.”

“Pity,” he mused. “A lot of men would kill to have even a portion of this.”

Albert stiffened at that, eyeing the man warily from the shallow pool beside him. He had been warned about humans more times than he could count. Arthur’s ragged shirt and vest were still damply clinging to his body, outlining the defined muscles that lay underneath the fabric. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that Arthur was fully capable of killing him, and the sword that he held only made that realization all the more clearer. The man was no doubt a master swordsman, and his intentions were as clear as mud. Arthur was coldly reserved, only revealing what he wanted to. 

Was he the kind of man who would kill another to gain riches?

The tension left Albert all at once when Arthur finally sheathed the sword. 

“Mind if I keep this?” he asked as he turned to face him. “The pirates on that ship took mine.”

“Not at all,” he replied, unable to hide the mild tremor in his voice.

Arthur tilted his head as he studied him, his eyes briefly flitting to the sheathed weapon in his hand before meeting Albert’s. "You really think I'd hurt you?"

"I'm actually not sure," he admitted. "We hardly know each other."

"You saved my life," Arthur said. "I might be a pirate, but I ain't _that_ cruel."

“Can never be too careful, right?” he grinned.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he replied as he walked over to the dinghy to examine it. It looked doable. Arthur pushed it into the shallow water to test its ability to float, and he was pleased to find no leaks. He turned to Albert after setting his sword in the boat. “You mind if I use this?”

“Not at all. Be my guest.”

He thanked him and stepped into the dinghy. “Which way is Port Denis?”

“Following the shore to the left will be easiest,” he answered. “May I come with you?”

Arthur paused, the oar in his hands suspended above the water. The request surprised him, and he furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to get to know your kind better firsthand. You’re the first human I’ve been able to speak to, and for you to answer my questions would be an unforgettable experience. In fact, I would gladly pull you along in exchange for your knowledge.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the merman’s interest. “I don’t get _why_ you find my kind so interesting, but if talking to you gets me a free ride, then sure. Why the hell not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DANG it's been a while friends ;; thanks for hanging in there and being so patient! 
> 
> A lot has been happening, but I'm hoping I'll soon have more time to sit and write here and there. Thank you so much for your continued support and for hanging around <3


End file.
